This Post is About How My Dad Got Poison Ivy (Down There)

Not sure how you pulled it off, dad, but I really gotta hand it to you on this one. It's not every day that a man encounters poison ivy, touches it and somehow manages to spread the stuff all over his crotch. It would seem some of the modern miracles mankind has managed to actualize over the course of time - clothes, for example - should have prevented at least two of the three from occurring. Or maybe that's just my opinion.

I knew something was amiss when mom called me laughing. She told me how after weeding the yard you noticed a patch you'd missed and, instead of putting your gloves back on, pulled those suckers out of the ground with your bare hands. You made your way into the house, wiped the sweat from your face and neck, and proceeded to use the restroom. Then you washed your hands? Oy ve. Had this been one of us kids growing up you would've salivated over the poignant life lessons and back-in-my-days that were practically begging to be wrought on our halfwitted brains.

I know exactly how this one played out, too. Let's see. Ah yes. You awoke with an incredible, painful itching sensation on your jowls, and soon later an illustrious, crimson rash on the most fallible member of man's southern hemisphere. After consulting mom, a trained nurse, her advice to you was likely "oh go on," "you're such a baby" or the more valuable "see, i told you so! should've worn gloves!" (afraid she was right). Now, normally you would've craned your neck, tried to simmer, bit your nail and thought of a quick comeback or retort, but not this time. No, at this point the swelling was all you could think of, more than you could bear and certainly the center of the vortex in a mass brain-wash of irritated, itchy thoughts and impulses. With no other option, you chose to show mom exactly what turmoil you were in. The proof was right there. This is when she really lost it on the phone...

Described to me by my own mother, in hysterics, as "swollen to two times its normal size, and ruby-red," I had to excuse myself from the office because of my disruptive laughter and tears. Sorry, dad, but this is pure gold. It's amazing it took this much convincing to get mom to offer up a ride to the hospital, which, once there, I understand more comedy ensued (at your expense). When the doctor asked you to drop trou I guess you made the nurse exit the room? I think I would have done the same. And upon seeing the swollen soul the doctor himself joined in on the fun, recommending you be at the pool in a Speedo instead of the hospital, laughing with mom about how other doctors actually charge male patients money to make them leave the operation room looking like dad had on his way in. Aw, poor dad!

A couple tubes of topical steroid cream later, you were back at home rendered useless on the couch, me on the other end of the line, listening to you explain how a bag of frozen baby carrots has never felt so good on one man's loins.

Get well soon.

2 comments:

ClizBiz said...

Poor Daddy Wendland! I hope he heals up real soon. Sounds like the makings of future family lore ... Sounds like a story that will be told and re-told over the years. Hopefully, it will get funnier each time.

mundane affair said...

Haha - thanks, Heather! I guarantee it will be retold for ages, each time being bigger and bolder than the recounting before it. ;-)